When you are very young, he or she is very tall. As you get older, he or she becomes a manageable size, but tiny new one’s sprout up, and then you start to shrink and the tiny ones cease to be tiny and catch up and surpass one in height.
My problem is that I’m old enough that all the low hanging fruit has been consumed, meaning most “first times” involve a serious time investment. For example, I’d love to go skydiving, but you can’t just jump out of a plane, you have to either watch a safety video or sabotage a plane. All for a five-minute experience. And if you don’t want to do it with a stranger strapped intimately close to you, you need to do probably watch several safety videos and practice pulling a cord over and over again. [Question: They sometimes ask if you’d like a male or female massage therapist when you get a massage, but I’ve never heard of being given the option when tandem skydiving. How come it’s ok to be homophobic, or hetero-phobic, in one instance, but not the other? Just asking.]
I poop. Surely, I would have exploded in my youth if I hadn’t developed the habit. I feel my quality of life as a human must be better than the quality of life of gut bacteria in wall-spattered fecal matter. At least I have the leisure and capacity to contemplate such things.
Hah. That ship has sailed. But I could say that it’s to still have something to offer when machines / AI can do all productive tasks better and / or faster than humans — i.e. to be able to convey something of the art of being human. Even though, I suspect, I won’t be around to see that day, it will be catastrophic to the species if people don’t figure these things out in advance — i.e. if we don’t figure out human roles and purpose in a post-human industrial landscape.